Horror Holiday (5 page)

Mr Montague parked at the far end of the clearing, and Maud jumped out of the car and rushed over.

“Hi, Mau – oof!” said Wilf.

Warren had let the tennis ball drop to the floor and grabbed Wilf in a headlock.

“Grrrr!” said Warren.

Wilf pulled at Warren’s forearm and scrabbled his feet around. “Let me go!”

“Only when you admit you’re the weakest little brother in the whole world,” growled Warren.

“Stop it!” said Maud. “I don’t know why you’re showing off. There’s no one here to watch.”

“I was enjoying it, actually,” said a mocking voice that Maud knew all too well. Poisonous Penelope stepped out of a ragged black tent at the edge of the clearing.

Penelope was a witch with straggly purple hair and a pointed hat, and she was Maud’s least favourite classmate. She was wearing black wellingtons and a waterproof version of her usual
black dress. “Hello, Montague,” she said.

“What are you doing here?” asked Maud.

“I’m Warren’s best friend,” said Penelope. “I always come. I’m surprised Wilf managed to find a friend this year, too. He’s so totally
un-monstrous.”

Mr and Mrs Wild strode out into the clearing, wearing matching red wellingtons and checked shirts. “Glad you could all make it,” said Mr Wild. He turned to his
fighting sons and let out a low, angry growl. Maud thought he was going to tell Warren off, but instead he said, “I’ve told you before, Wilf. You need to throw your weight to get out of
a headlock. And stop whining.”

Maud picked up the tennis ball and threw it over Warren’s head. “Fetch,” she said.

Warren’s eyes followed it, and he bounded off, releasing Wilf.

“Good boy,” said Maud.

“Fight your own battles next time,” said Mr Wild, pointing his finger at Wilf. “You shouldn’t need little girls to help you.”

“Sorry, Dad,” said Wilf, rubbing his neck.

Mr Wild stomped back over to his truck.

“I’m glad you’re here,” said Wilf.

“That’s alright,” said Maud. “My parents are excited about it. I think they really like your mum and dad.”

She pointed to her dad, who had untethered the caravan and was now chatting to Mr Wild. He was saying words like ‘awesome’ and ‘groovy’, and making Mr Wild cringe.

“I’d better put my tent up,” said Maud. “Where’s yours?”

“We don’t have any,” said Wilf.

“You came camping without a tent?” asked Maud, surprised.

“Of course,” said Wilf. “Why hide under a tent when you could be out in the open, feeling the moonlight on your fur?”

Maud gulped. Keeping the truth about the Wilds’ secret from her parents was going to be even harder than she’d thought.

She headed back to the car, where Milly was still sitting in the back with her seatbelt on and her arms folded.

“Fancy helping me with the tent?” asked Maud.

“No,” said Milly. “I fancy getting out of this mud pit right now, and I’d like to know why no one is listening to me.”

“I’m sure you’ll find something to do,” said Maud. “Maybe you could build a swamp-castle.”

Milly ignored her, so Maud went round to the boot and hauled out the tent. She dragged it into the middle of the clearing and tested the ground with her finger. It was firmer than the
surrounding bog, but it was still squidgy. At least it would be easy to get the pegs in.

As Maud unrolled the tent, Wilf ran to the other side and grabbed a corner. He stretched it over the ground and pushed a peg into the soil.

“Is your dad always so harsh?” asked Maud as they worked.

“He’s usually much worse,” said Wilf, clicking two of the poles together. “He thinks all wolves should be fierce and strong. He’s proud of Warren, but he says
I’m so nice I couldn’t even frighten a postman. I wish there was something I could do to convince him that I’m a big bad wolf.”

Maud crawled inside the tent and shoved the poles upright. “I’ll try and help if you like, as soon as I’ve written my essay.”

“That would be monstrous!” said Wilf, stretching the waterproof flysheet over the top.

Maud got out and pulled the rope at the front until it was taut.

“Thanks, Wilf,” she said. “I think that tent’s staying put now.”

Just then, a violent gust of wind blew through the clearing, parting the wisps of mist. It lifted the tent straight up into the air, where it flew around like a huge kite, until finally
plummeting into the stagnant bog at the bottom of the slope.

“Drat,” said Maud.

As she padded down to the bog and grabbed the corner of her soggy tent, she heard a cackle coming from behind her. Penelope was watching from the clearing, grinning.

“How do you like my holiday reading?” she asked, holding up a dusty hardback book called
Weather Spells for Beginners
. “I’m only on the first chapter and
it’s going down a storm. Literally.” She broke into another fit of giggles.

“Hilarious,” said Maud, dragging her muddy tent back up the slope.

“Wilf told me you need to get full marks on your essay or you’ll drop down a year,” said Penelope with mock concern. “You know how much I’d hate to see you get
thrown out of our class. But it’s not going to be easy with all this unpredictable weather around.”

Maud said nothing, but she knew Penelope was right. Writing a flawless Fright essay would be difficult at any time. But with a witch playing magical pranks on her, it was going to be practically
impossible.

M
r Montague clapped his hands together. “There we are!” he said. “It’s going a treat now!”

Maud’s dad had finally managed to get a small fire going after almost an hour of searching for dry twigs in the soggy swamp. The Wilds and the Montagues sat around on canvas stools, while
weak flames and sparks flickered into the night air.

Only Milly had refused to join in. She’d dashed straight from the car to the caravan, and announced she was going to stay inside and alphabetise her flower-pressing collection until the
whole ‘ordeal’ was over.

“Who knows a good campfire song?” asked Mr Montague.

“I know ‘Born to be Wild’,” said Mrs Montague hopefully.

“That’s not a campfire song,” said Maud. “If anything, that’s a driving song. And I think we’ve all heard it enough for one day.”

Maud turned to her exercise book and started to scribble.

My biggest fright was the time I almost ate a dead woodlouse. I put it in my lunchbox for safekeeping. But then I forgot and when I opened it again, I thought it was a raisin.

Maud looked back at her essay. She’d just started and she could already tell it wasn’t going to be nearly frightening enough. She ripped the page out of her book and threw it into
the fire.

“Thank you kindly,” said Mr Montague. “Every little helps.”

Maud thought she’d be making a lot of kindling at the rate she was going. Everything she wrote seemed wrong. Thinking up scary stuff was harder than it sounded.

Mrs Wild unzipped her picnic bag and brought out a packet of raw steaks. “I hope everyone’s hungry,” she said. “It’s time for dindins!”

Warren barked with excitement as Mrs Wild tore into the packet with her teeth and handed out the steaks.

“My, do those look good,” said Mrs Montague. “How are we going to cook them?”

“Cook them?” asked Mr Wild. “And take all the flavour out?”

He chomped off the end of the raw steak and chewed it noisily. Mrs Wild and Warren did the same.

Maud waited for her parents to cry out with disgust, but they both kept smiling politely.

The sight of the Wilds gnashing away with flecks of blood on their strong white teeth was pretty ghastly. But they were werewolves, and Maud supposed it was the natural way for them to eat.
Anyway, lots of humans ate in very odd ways. Milly always refused to eat her dinner unless it was chopped into little bits and colour coded on her special plate.

Wilf picked up his knife, fork and plastic plate, and started to cut up his raw steak. “Sorry about my family’s table manners,” he whispered to Maud. “We usually eat out
of bowls on the kitchen floor.”

“I heard that. And it’s
your
manners you should be ashamed of,” sneered Mr Wild with a half-chewed piece of steak in his mouth. “You’re in the woods, not a
fancy restaurant.”

Warren sniggered.

“Take no notice,” whispered Maud. “You should eat your food whatever way you want.”

Mrs Montague stared at her raw steak and nudged Mr Montague. “What should we do?” she asked quietly.

“We’d better join in,” said Mr Montague, tearing a small piece off with his teeth. He chewed it a few times and swallowed it. “Excellent. Very rare. I think this is how
the French eat it.”

“Hmm,” said Mrs Montague with a frown.

Mr Wild and Warren had already managed to finish their steaks. They both let out long, gurgling burps.

“I think I’ll have mine well done,” said Maud. She grabbed a skewer from the picnic basket and held the steak over the fire.

Maud watched the weak flames lap the meat and thought about her essay. She could remember plenty of scary events in her life, like the time she thought a branch tapping on her bedroom window was
an escaped murderer, and the time her dad hired a clown for her fifth birthday, but none of them seemed frightening enough for full marks. Especially not in a school for monsters.